


Name

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Fandom Birthday Playlist [19]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Historical AU, Orphans, lieutenant duckling AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: Every time Killian saw the beautiful blonde named Emma, she had a different last name. Maybe her whole life she's just been trying to get back to where she started. For lenfaz on her birthday.





	Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lenfaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenfaz/gifts).



> *I apparently can't stop writing lieutenant duckling or Killian Jones appearing in every American war. I just need a Revolutionary War fic and a Civil War fic, and I'll be done with the saga, lol!
> 
> * Inspired by the song of the same name by Goo Goo Dolls.

_ And now we’re grown up orphans that never knew their names. We don’t belong to no one that’s a shame. _

Her name was Emma Smith. His name was Killian Jones. Their parents apparently cared enough to give them the first, but not the second. Hers was knitted in the corner of a baby blanket, his was on a note pinned to the front of his sleeper that merely said: “His name is Killian. Please take care of him.” Both were left where their parents most likely thought they would be safe: Emma on a bench outside of a hospital, Killian on the front steps of a church. “Baby Smith” and “Baby Jones” were  easy labels for those who found them. 

Neither would remember the first time they met; sharing a crib in the Catholic orphanage. If they had been born in any other decade, they would have been quickly adopted. But this was 1932, and the nation was in the throes of a Great Depression. There were separate orphanages for boys and girls, so they didn’t share their crib for long. Killian Jones was sent to the state-run boys’ home, and by the time he saw Emma Smith again, she would have a different name.

********************************************************

He was eight years old, and though times were still rough, they were slowly but surely getting better. So much better that people were able to give once again to the less fortunate. There was slightly more food than before, slightly warmer blankets. Yet the Depression had taken its toll, and now there were twice as many orphans. 

Still, the Catholic church down the street had enough donations that they could throw a modest Christmas party for the city’s orphans. The boys were spit and polished as much as they could be with what little they had and were marched the several blocks to the church. They were herded into the sanctuary under the strict gaze of their caretakers, and on the stage in front of them were the residents of the girl’s orphanage. As a gift to their guests, they did a concert of Christmas carols. 

Killian barely heard the words to the song: all he could focus on was the little blonde girl in the front, her hair glowing in the lights from the flickering candles. She opened her mouth along with the others, words spilling forth, but her eyes were dull. From boredom or  cynicism,  he couldn’t say, but something about them was so familiar. 

In the fellowship hall, the nuns served refreshments and handed out candy and trinkets to the children. There was no Santa – orphans knew better than anyone there was no such person. Killian found the little blonde girl sitting alone, nursing a peppermint stick. He shuffled his feet nervously, then finally blurted out:

“Hi, I’m Killian. Killian Jones.”

She raised both eyebrows. “E mma. E mma Miller.” 

He felt himself go hot all the way to the tips of his ears, and he had no idea what to say next. 

“Want a peppermint stick?” she asked, holding out a second one clutched in her other fist. 

He smiled, taking the proffered sweet and sitting in the chair next to her. Neither remembered sharing a crib as newborns, but they both had the strangest feeling they had known each other a long time. Killian didn’t know that Emma acquired her new name when the Millers adopted her. He didn’t know how they had a baby of their own and sent her back to the orphanage at age three, unable to feed  _ two  _ young mouths. Neither did Emma tell him. As children often do, they spoke of more immediate things and giggled as they used their peppermint sticks as miniature swords. 

It would be five more years before they saw one another again. 

*****************************************************

Orphanages weren’t pleasant places to grow up. The common opinion was that such children needed strict discipline and a heavy hand. Mercy and grace were rare; tenderness and affection completely absent. Killian lasted until the age of eleven before he just had to get away. Boys of thirteen were cast out anyway to find work. Why wait for the inevitable? 

The streets of Boston weren’t kind to a boy of eleven, however, and his freedom came at a high price and an  often empty  belly. There were street gangs too, and Killian was small for his age. He tried to go unseen, but it was only a matter of time before he crossed the wrong group of street kids. They had him surrounded in an alley behind an Italian restaurant. He had only been searching for food scraps; he hadn’t known it was anyone’s “territory.” 

He fought back at first, flinging trash and swinging the lid of the  g a rbage ca n, but eventually all he could do was duck and cover his head. Maybe if he curled into a small enough ball, they would lose interest. As the kicks and punches rained down on him, he realized how wrong he had been. 

Suddenly, there was a shout and one large boy was pulled away from him, then another. The rest of the boys turned to face the new threat, and all Killian could do was scramble behind the largest trash can. He peeked around the side of it to watch three boys take on his attackers. One had sandy colored, close cropped hair and looked about his age. Another had light brown curls and was broad and strong, raining down punches with a righteous indignation in his eyes. Killian guessed he had to be at least fifteen, maybe older. The third was armed with a slingshot. The other boys couldn’t get close enough for hand to hand combat without getting pelted. He was probably somewhere in the middle of the other two age wise, perhaps thirteen. 

It wasn’t long before the gang were sent running. Whoever these three were, they were tough in a fight. The question was, were they rescuing Killian or wanting him for themselves? And if the second, what for? For that reason, Killian made himself as small as possible behind the trash cans. 

“It’s okay, you can come out,” one boy called to him.

“We won’t hurt you,” a second assured.

Hesitantly, Killian came out from hiding. He tasted blood on his lip, and his temple throbbed. He was sure he looked pitiful. Nevertheless, the oldest of the three boys smiled in a way that put him at ease. 

“What’s your name, kid ? ” he asked him.

“Killian. Killian Jones.”

The teenager’s grin broadened. “No kidding. My name is Jones too – Liam Jones.”

It turned out Liam had gotten his last name the same way Killian had – from being an abandoned nobody. He was going on sixteen, and the unofficial big brother of the group. The other eleven - year - old was David, and the thirteen - yea r- old with the slingshot was Robin. They weren’t a gang, just friends who looked out for each other because they were alone on the streets. They adopted Killian, called him “little brother” (David liked to point out he was almost twelve at every opportunity), and for the first time in his life, he was part of a family. 

****************************************************

 The orphaned kids of the depression were now orphaned teenagers – juvenile delinquents, acc or ding to the adults. The streets were filled with them. The ones who were old enough had joined up for the war, most of them never to return. The rest plagued the city and were easy prey to adult crime bosses.  Girls were less common on the streets, but they were there. They were even more vulnerable to exploitation than the boys. 

Liam said to stay away from girls; they were nothing but trouble. David had a soft spot for one particular girl with dark hair who was just as good with a slingshot as Robin. She’d run away from her stepmother after her father died. Killian was thirteen now, David nearing fourteen, Robin was fifteen, and Liam himself was almost eighteen. Liam’s “no girls” rule was quickly becoming a lost cause. 

Killian saw her again for the first time in five years warming herself around a fire in a trash can behind an old canning factory. Many street children and even homeless adults had taken to socializing here, and even though there was a code of sorts, young girls were still vulnerable here. 

A gray hat was pushed down onto Emma’s head, but the gold in her hair still shone bright by the flickering light. She held her hands, clad in threadbare gloves, up to the warmth. He approached her slowly, as if she were an apparition that might disappear. 

“Emma?”

Her head snapped  up,  eyes wide. He must not have looked threatening (he was still rather small at thirteen, he hated to admit) because her face quickly relaxed. She tilted her head,  studying him closely . He patted his chest. 

“Killian Jones. The Christmas party?”

A smile slowly filled her face. “Of course. I wouldn’t forget a name like Killian.”

“Neither have I forgotten yours.”

She lifted one shoulder dismissively. “It isn’t Miller anymore, though. It’s Emma Swan now.”

“I like it,” he told her, “it suits you.”

She ducked her head, a blush staining her cheeks. “Well, the Millers threw me away, so why would I want their name?”

“May I ask why you picked Swan?”

She chewed at her lower lip. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Never.”

She let out a long sigh. “The story of the ugly duckling.”

“Ahh, I see. He was really a swan all along.”

She shrugged again. 

“Like I said,” he told her, leaning closer, “I like it.”

Liam had said “no girls,” but Mary Margaret was already a constant fixture in their group, so Emma was welcomed, albeit a bit reluctantly on Liam’s part. They found an old tenement apartment, condemned by the city, to crash in. Emma was a master thief and contributed to the group’s provisions so well that she eventually won even Liam over. And when Liam brought Elsa home, shivering, her lips almost blue, the “no girls” rule was officially dead. 

Elsa was different, it turned out, a runaway but with a family who loved her and never stopped looking for her. It was her sister Anna who found her crashing in the remains of the tenement and begged her to come home.  No one was surprised when Elsa caved. Anna had an innocence about her that was difficult to resist. And in that moment, everything changed. 

Liam was eighteen now and in love with Elsa. A girl who actually came from a decent home with a decent family. Liam had to prove himself worthy of her; it was time for him to makes something of himself. Couldn’t the rest of them understand that?

“ So  what will you do?” Killian asked, his jaw clenching to hold back the tears. At some point, Liam had become the bar he strove for. They may have shared a last name by chance, but in every other way Liam was his big brother. His idol. 

“I’m joining the Navy.”

“Then so will I,” Robin vowed, surging to his feet.

“Me too,” David added, chin tilted in defiance. 

A feeling of pride and belonging swelled in Killian’s chest. “A band of brothers. Forever.”

Mary Margaret stood by with unshed tears shining in her eyes. But Emma . . . 

“You are all assholes, you know that?” she screamed, her hands fisted at her sides. 

Then she ran.

Killian found her down by the docks, looking out at sea. He stood beside her wordlessly, slipping his hand in hers. 

“The ocean is big,” she said. 

He nodded.

“I’ll never see you again.”

“You could join too,” Killian said, his voice rising as he warmed up to the idea, “girls can, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not until they’re twenty, and besides, girls can only be nurses or secretaries. That’s not me.”

He hung his head. He knew she was right – he couldn’t see her doing either of those things and being happy.

“You’re still going, aren’t you?”

The sea wind had blown hair in her face again, and Killian reached out to tuck it behind her ear. “When I turn eighteen, yes.”

Honestly, at fourteen, it seemed a lifetime away. He had a lifetime to be here with Emma, so he traced her jaw with his fingertips and leaned in close. It was his first kiss and hers too. Their lips pressed together awkwardly; their noses bumped; they giggled and tried again. It was perfect. 

*****************************************************

Four years, it turned out, wasn’t a lifetime. It was, however, long enough for Killian Jones to fall completely, hopelessly in love with Emma Swan. He and David were heading to basic training, and Emma and Mary Margaret were there to say goodbye. Mary Margaret already had an engagement ring on her finger. David had proposed the day he enlisted, just as Robin had before him with his girlfriend Marian and Liam with Elsa before that. 

Emma, on the other hand, had warned Killian weeks before, “If you propose to me just because you’re joining the Navy, I swear to God, I will punch you in the face.”

Now they stood in a crowded bus station, and Killian wished he had a more private location to say what was on his heart. He couldn’t stop kissing her, couldn’t stop threading his fingers through her hair. He reached into the front of his shirt and pulled out the ring he wore on a chain around his neck. 

“ Whoah ,  whoah ,  whoah ,” Emma protested, holding up a hand, her eyes wide.

“Calm down, I’m not proposing,” he assured her with a teasing glint to his eyes. He may have imagined it, but Emma actually looked slightly disappointed. He pressed the garnet ring into her palm and closed her fingers over  it.  “This ring was sewn into my baby blanket when I was left on the church steps. I want you to have it. I did as you asked by not proposing, but . . .  “ he  took a deep breath before looking deeply into her eyes, “I love you Emma. I vow to find my way home to you, always. Will you wait for me?”

The color drained from her face, and a sadness filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Killian,” she whispered, pushing the ring back into his hand, “I can’t.”

“What?” he felt suddenly unsteady.

She shook her head rapidly, golden strands of hair brushing her cheeks, “I can't lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

Not knowing how to respond, he surged forward and kissed her with all the feeling that threatened to consume him. She kissed him back with equal fervor, and he knew it was only her fear holding her back. He pressed the ring back into her palm.

“I still want you to keep it.”

Killian understood Emma better than anyone, so when he left her at the bus station that day, he told himself that her love for him would be enough. She was just too scared to admit it. He would keep his vow, and when he got home, the two of them would have a future together. When letters didn’t come during basic training, he still held onto hope and his love for Emma.  

Then June 25 th , 1950 came. War was declared on Korea. Killian had been sending Emma letters religiously, and he sent her one to let her know he was shipping out. Still he got nothing in response. It didn’t matter to him, though, he would keep his vow anyway. 

***************************************************

It was 1953 and Killian Jones was a young man of twenty.  He was war torn, minus a left hand, but he hadn’t lost his tenacity. A man who isn’t willing to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. Growing up in an orphanage during the depression, living on the streets as a teen, and serving in the military had all taught him that. His band of brothers had all made it through alive: Liam, Robin, and David were all home and settling down with their young wives. How many others could say that? Now all he had to do was find the woman he loved and show her he had kept his vow. He didn’t even worry about his disability;  it  would just show Emma how much he had fought to get home to her.

Neither Mary Margaret or Elsa knew where she was; Emma had withdrawn from them shortly after the men left. That didn’t stop Killian, though. He returned to their old haunts in the city, asking everyone if they had seen her recently, showing off a well-worn photograph that had survived a war. 

Finally, his searching had brought him here, to a modest apartment complex in  Eastie . He straightened his shoulders and knocked. 

Of all the times he had imagined seeing Emma again, he had never pictured her with a six-month- old baby on her hip. Yet there the child was, big brown eyes staring at Killian as he rested his chubby cheek on his mother’s shoulder. 

“Swan!” he still couldn’t help blurting out. 

“It’s Cassidy now,” she told him carefully, “Emma Cassidy.”

The new last name was like a physical blow. His gaze flickered to her left hand. There was no ring. 

“Umm,” she said nervously, her free hand running through her hair. It still shimmered like  gold,  her eyes were still that  clear  shade of green. She was still breathtaking, perhaps even more so. She was a woman now. 

“Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” she agreed, ushering him in. She shut the door behind them, then set the baby down in a high chair beside the kitchen table. The apartment was small, the living room and kitchen one space. She handed the baby a zwieback cracker, which he gummed happily. “He’s teething,” Emma explained as she straightened, hands fluttering nervously, “so I hope he doesn’t fuss.”

Killian swallowed as they stood there awkwardly staring at one another. Finally, he just blurted it out, “You got married?”

Emma shuffled her feet and stared at the floor. “For only about two seconds, but yeah.”

“So you’re not anymore?”

She merely shook her head. 

“Emma, why?” he asked brokenly. 

“I never promised you anything.” She tilted her head in defiance as she said it, yet the tremor in her chin and the moisture in her eyes sent the opposite message. 

“Did you love him?”

Emma rubbed her palms on her house dress and bit her lower lip. Finally, she deflated and sighed. “What’s the point in lying to you? You could always see right through me.”

She collapsed into the kitchen chair, her head dropping to her hand. Killian’s heart broke a little at the sight, and part of him longed to go to her and just take her in his arms. 

“I ignored your letters because I was afraid, but part of me still hoped we could pick back up where we left off when you got home. Then the war started . . . “ she lifted her head then to look at him, pleading with her eyes for him to understand. “My fear turned to absolute terror. I guess I thought if I could let you go in my heart, it wouldn’t tear me apart if . . . if . . . you never came home again.”

Killian’s jaw ticked, anger welling up inside. “ So  you what? Started sleeping around?”

She didn’t even attempt to argue with him or defend  herself.  “Yes. Neal, Henry’s father, was the only one who kept coming back  around.  The one-night stands weren’t doing the trick, so when Neal  swore  he loved me, I thought maybe he was the answer.” She paused, tracing the pattern on the plastic floral placemat in front of her. Killian gave her time. “When Henry came, he told me he wasn’t cut out for fatherhood, and just . . . left us. And here we are.” 

She looked up at him and shrugged. She was right, he knew her so well. The shrugs, the nonchalant choice of words, all of it attempted to mask the pain he saw shining in her eyes. 

“What did you mean  _ the one-night stands weren’t doing the trick _ ?”

Emma blinked. “ Ummm  . . . making me forget you.”

“And your . . .  “ he  closed his eyes, almost choking on the next word, “husband . . . did he do the trick?”

A single tear tracked down Emma’s face. “No.”

Silence descended between them, broken when Henry started banging on his high chair tray. He babbled “mama” in a fussy, demanding tone, and Emma hurried to get him another zwieback cracker. Once the baby was satisfied, she turned to Killian with a dejected air. 

“I know it’s too late,” she told him sadly.

Killian crossed the room in long, easy strides. Her eyes widened in surprise when he grasped her upper arms. Her eyes flickered to his stump, and he realized how right he had been. She had only just now noticed. She took it in her hands, pressing her eyes closed as tears flowed freely. 

“Killian,” she breathed, “what happened?”

“I survived,” he told her simply, “because I had a vow to keep.”

She gasped as she fixed her gaze on him. “You must hate me.”

He shook his head. “Never. Let me ask you one question Emma, and I want you to be completely honest. Whatever your answer, I’ll honor it. Do you still love me?”

She reached out a trembling hand to trace his jaw. “Yes,” she whispered, “I never stopped.”

Killian pressed his forehead to hers. “Neither did I. No matter where life has taken me, it always seems to lead me right back to you.”

When he claimed her lips with his, she kissed him back with abandon, her entire body trembling at his touch. 

“You found me,” she said over and over against his lips, and he tasted the salt of her tears. 

Emma Smith. Emma Miller. Emma Swan. Emma Cassidy. Killian had loved her even before he knew what a soul mate was. Yet nothing compared to the name she took on a beautiful spring day in 1954 – Emma Jones. It was as if it were always meant to be hers. 


End file.
